


If You'll Accept Me (and all my faults)

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Narcissa Malfoy, Bonding, Falling In Love, I Tried, Kissing, M/M, Weird Plot Shit, Wizard Gift, implied sex, sorry - Freeform, wandless!draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: Harry started out as an odd job man for Neville at the back end of beyond. Sometime's they cater to Ollivander's but it's usually exclusive orders. Now he's found something he's really good at - Custom Wands.So when Draco comes in looking for a Custom Order, he should be sure to get it... right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not _good_ at long fics so please ignore that. 
> 
> Feel free to comment! All mistakes are my own.

Just his luck. All his friends were getting married and here he was nursing his second glass of Firewhiskey.

Harry felt a slight buzz, the bright colours of the living room offsetting the happy sort of giddiness he usually got from drinking, replacing it with a sickening dizziness that forced him to close his eyes.

Opening them again didn't do him much good. He was still stuck in the loud room, the off-set of yellows and greens jumping from the walls like a caged dragon. Craning his neck in search of his hosts, he decided to push the Fire whiskey to the side to steady his head. Harry wrinkled his nose at Neville's - well, it was much more likely to be Hannah's - bad decorating. Thinking back to his own dank accommodations, he forced a polite smile for Hannah, who had just come back into the room bearing cakes. They didn't look home-made but he could deal with that, after all, he was there for the company, he told himself.

To Harry's knowledge, neither Hannah or Neville were great in the kitchen with anything that didn't involve greenery-based meals. Which was fine by Hannah; as she was currently in the middle of a riveting discussion about how she was turning to Veganism. Neville had assured Harry that cooking and Potions were much too similar subjects for him to be any good at either.

Harry nodded at them as they talked avidly about their honeymoon and Harry offered up information about Luna Lovegood's plan to travel the world when asked. His head was still swimming, but he could handle it. Glaring at the wall decor above the sofa in which the newlyweds were currently perched, Harry fought mutely with himself about downing his Fire whiskey in one go. He loved Neville, and Hannah was delightful - really, but that sign sent shivers through his shoulders.

He probably told Neville and Hannah five times each that he should be getting home throughout the course of the night, promising to see them on Monday at a few too many inappropriate intervals, which happened to be whenever there was a lull in conversation.

For the rest of the night Harry was stuck cradling an almost empty glass of whiskey (he didn't feel comfortable placing it back down on the small, rickety coffee table in front of him - overstuffed with sweet treats as it was) while being nearly forced to glare at the point just behind Hannah's head that read "Get high, climb a tree!"

God they was old. God, he was old.

***

Old or not, Harry felt tipsy. Tipsy and alive.

Stumbling through the streets of Muggle London, Harry tried to clamp his hand over his mouth a couple of times, unsuccessfully. A giggle erupted from his sun kissed lips, the deepness of them offset by the glare of the fluorescence that had been running the length of about a dozen streets.

Laughing again in the silent street, Harry felt as light as air. He was finally out of that god-awful living room, fresh night air seeping slowly and sweetly into his lungs. After twenty minutes of strolling down darkened lanes with his hands constantly in and out of his pockets, checking for his wand Harry was well and truly lost.

"I really need to invest in a wand holster", he muttered to himself, feeling around inside his robes for entirely too long.

Finally finding an alleyway that stretched out into some semblance of a town, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to be relieved about, however. He didn't spend a lot of time in London, especially Muggle London. But anything had to be better than six rows of residential estates.

For Harry, the definition of better seemed to be some sort of strip club. It was more like a strip mall - rows of buildings, some stacked on top of others, showcasing different portions of 'adult entertainment' - but he didn't want to dwell on that too much.

Trying to act as sober as possible, Harry jumped over a low wall barring him from the middle of the town. Walking up to the first non-neon sign he saw, he tried not to look suspicious jostling into a place like this on a Thursday evening, slightly, only slightly, drunk.

A deep breath in and another one out steeled his nerves for the woman at the front desk. Guessing that she was the receptionist he bit back an unwarranted comment about her skirt.

"Hi, um, miss?"

Harry had come to a standstill. It was as though he was in Hogsmede all over again, buying his first Butterbeer. Had he really been away from the Muggle world for that long? He wasn't struggling with money conversion yet so he reckoned he wasn't quite going senile. "Not yet anyway," Harry muttered to himself as the woman replied to what he assumed was a text. "I might be by the time you realise I'm here."

"What? Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all, a dark eyebrow arching up to disappear into sandy coloured hair. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so." I hope the hell not. Harry shook his head in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture. He made sure his hair fell correctly, over his forehead and towards his right. He was uncomfortably aware that he probably looked like a dog, considering his slightly buzzed state and his nervous twitching - his unruly hair didn't contribute kindly to the image the woman behind the desk was seeing.

He tried to put it out of his mind, instead leaning slightly over the raised edge of the desk so he could see the name placard more clearly. Well, as clearly as he could, his mind was wandering already and he didn't dare try to wipe his glasses, for the sheer fear of poking one of his eyes out with the tips of his temples.

Fuck it.  
His life couldn't get any worse.

Coughing once, awkwardly, Harry proceeded. "I'm looking for a -- a train station." He made the decision as he spoke it.

"Ain't one near here darlin'"

Today was not his day.


	2. Chapter 1

Groping for the right words, Harry found that they were out of reach and he seemingly wouldn't be able to find them until he'd taken a hangover potion "Okay do you have-" He cut himself off, remembering where he was - who he was - and, belatedly, who he was talking to. He didn't want to sound mad and he didn't need the Aurors in full gear down in Muggle London obliviating forty women, all in various states of undress.

"Do you have a phone I could borrow?"

***

He'd been all bleary eyes and fitful sleep before this. Padding across the landing in fuzzy socks and a large pinstripe pyjama set, Dudley Dursley of Picket Close, Bracknell eyed the phone with a deep suspicion. A sort of dread crept into the back of his mind as he picked up the receiver.

Making sure he put on the most polite voice he could muster at - Jesus - half past midnight, he started speaking. Not two minutes into the introductions the line crackled, a familiar voice seeping through the other end of it.

"Hey, I know it's late and we haven't spoken in ten-" It sounded like the man was doing an abysmal job of mental maths down the line before giving up. "Whatever, I need a huge favour..." He let Harry go of on yet another mini tangent, rambling for all he was worth before a muffled voice at Harry's end of the line told him to wrap it up.

"Ok."

"Okay?"

"Yeah sure, I'll do it". It wasn't like his wife would miss him. Not when she was snoring like an elephant in the other room. And Daisy was out like a light. After all, he had an apology to make.

And with that Dudley slowly clicked the receiver back down, wiggling his large feet into his slightly scuffed Cheltenhams as he did so. Flinging his coat around him he turned to shut the door, bracing himself against the chilly air and wincing at the bang it made as he did so.

He felt a familiar spike of adrenaline as he turned the key in the ignition, plugging in the coordinates to... a sex club?

Goddamn his idiot cousin.

****

"It isn't what it looks like." The first words Harry managed to babble as he got into the car. Unsurprisingly, they were not 'Hi, how are you?' or even 'Thanks for picking me up'. But Dudley would have expected nothing less.

"I know it's short notice, and thanks, I really didn't know how to manoeuvre myself in that situation without-" His head had cleared, a fraction, and Harry caught himself whispering the God forsaken "M" word to himself as he lay back against the passenger seat, watching street lights pass him by in all their splendour. Inside the car they looked less dreadful than they had when he'd been dwarfed by them on the street.

The roads were widening and the two men had lapsed into an an uncomfortable silence. The tangible crackle between them felt heavier than when they'd been children, for some reason. Harry didn't want to know what that meant.

"Daisy's started to experience some accidental magic."

"Oh?" Was all Harry said as the words wrapped themselves around him. The realisation seeping into his very bones as he stared at the soft rain that was starting to patter at the wide windshield in front of him.  
"Oh." He said with more conviction, although it didn't really add to the conversation.

"I'm sorry, you know." Dudley said after some deliberation.

He tried again. "It's hard-" Swallowing around the sudden pressure in his throat, Dudley forced himself to breathe, "to admit I was awful to you. It's even harder to realise my own parents were - could be so cruel. But whenever I think about Daisy I just- I can't ever imagine.."  
Dudley gulped, puffing air shallowly from his nose as he tried to control the wobble that became visible in his jaw. "You know."

Harry didn't. Making a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat they lapsed into a silence again.

***

Harry did turn up to work Monday morning, slightly late, as usual.

"Sorry, the floo connection on my end is buggered and I didn't want to apparate straight into the Hydrangeas".

Neville called a half-hearted 'Don't swear at the plants!' from the end of the garden space as Hannah ambled up the lawn with a sack about half the size of herself."Good. You'd have disturbed the shrubbery".

Hannah smiled from behind a hefty bag of soil. Somehow she looked more attractive when she was in her element. Dirt caked under her nails and an obscure flower (probably something Luna recommended while she was away )was tucked behind her right ear. For a brief moment he could see why Neville found her pretty, but as the sun glanced from her blonde hair down to her old green blouse he found that he was reminded of her disgustingly wallpapered living room once more.

Laughing, she practically skipped over to her husband, diamond glinting in the sunlight. "You're the most clumsy plant handler we've had." She poked her tongue out through the gap in her teeth. Holding back any comment he might have had, Harry forced a smile, instead choosing to amble off to the shop floor near the road.

The shop itself was airy, a thatched Elizabethan cottage. It had retained almost all of it's paintwork, aside from some chipping to the door. Customers usually came from the road, the front of the cottage nestled behind a large hedge that spanned the perimeter of the gardens Hannah and Neville kept and tended, with help from Harry.

He was mostly on the shop floor however; tending to stores, restocking etc. With his two colleagues born into Wizarding families, Harry kept the books too, all the money stuff being left to him. Sometimes he felt like he was the only wizard in England able to do basic mental arithmetic.

Settling on the stool behind the counter, Harry brought out a couple of notebooks and started counting, not daring to bring a calculator so close to errant magical plants.

Grimacing at a spot of Flobberworm Mucus that dripped from a shelf above his head, Harry cursed himself for not spelling the cork shut in any way.

A cloth was accioed from across the room and Harry set to work cleaning the sticky goop from the plywood.

After the war he'd looked at his life choices and realised he really didn't want to be thrown into the mini-battle that was the Auror Training Programme. So he did what any sane person would do, he took a year off, helping Ron and George with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It wasn't like it was any less exciting - and arguably, there was more of a chance of him getting blow up.

But by the end of the year he'd realised he really did love the shop, it's environment, the people, almost everything. Except the distinct lack of a Fred-shaped shadow stood next to him. He wished he could voice the feeling of dull grief that reared it's ugly head at inopportune times.

He wished he could articulate how much Fred Weasley left a gaping hole in his chest and how when he thought about it, he still felt the prickling of tears. He should cry. It could probably have done him some good - even if it had been don't quietly in the back, next to the bucket of discarded wood chipping. Instead he braced his hands against the, slightly wet plywood and took a deep breath before muttering; "We really need to order some Beech tree surfacing."

***

_“Are you off already?_

_“Yes Mother.”_

_“Where are you going? Will you be home for supper? How will you get back? I'll stand by the window until you're gone you know this...” Her voice had a sharpness to it, one she didn't intend to use. She held her breath and counted to ten, cursing herself for sounding overprotective._

_Not overprotective. She told herself fiercely. Merely inquisitive._

_“I can't bear to live like this Mother and you know it. I have to do something. I know you can't stand him but he's my only hope.”Before Draco could argue with her any more, he slammed the door behind him. The cold swept into her very bones, chilling her to the core. As the old house wept, she wept with it._

_“Is he now? We'll see petal. We'll see.”_


	3. Chapter 2

"I'll come back later - you seem busy."  
Harry blinked upwards, catching steel grey eyes briefly. Wiping his damp hands on his jeans he briefly considered fleeing to the back, leaving Hannah to deal with it. Heaving a sigh, Harry tried to focus anywhere else but his eyes.

He chose to focus instead on the twisting braid coming down from the nape of Draco's neck to gracefully rest upon some kind of embroidery, hidden by the white blond strands at his breast.

"Um, sorry about that." Harry forced a laugh - he felt like he'd been doing that a lot lately. "How can I help you"?

He must have looked menacing, and maybe a little too much on the side of good, trying to bar Draco from the counter as he stepped around to the front of the desk space. In reality, he just wanted to look... but that excuse probably wouldn't be palpable to anyone but Harry. Especially not the man standing in front of him.

"I need to see someone about a wand... but don't worry I'll come back later." Draco ground out, manoeuvring himself around a plant pot before darting from the door, in a perhaps much less dignified manner than he would have liked to have upheld.

"No I-" Harry tried to dissect the situation, reading Draco's expressions as he got his bearings.

"How about a coffee? Next weekend? I'm off."

The way he'd said it had sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. The question was rushed and he'd paused in places where the sentence should have been a fluent, steady thrum of syllables.

Harry hadn't exactly known why he'd asked, or what he'd meant. It was enough, however, to see the ghost of a smile on Draco's lips before he schooled his features again. "Okay," he said softly, before turning around and walking back out into the harsh sunlight. “I'll meet you in the Hill”. 

With that, he was gone.

"Wait you forgot to-" Harry trailed off. He put his hands on the counter to steady his dizzying thoughts. Closing his eyes he felt for the bit of chipped wood that he needed to repair. He felt his nail catch, and seconds later he was stroking the indented grain like a tabby. It was familiar. Familiar and soothing, while the thoughts went on riling in his head, Harry found solace in the gentle pressure of his thumb against something so unchanging.

He'd just asked Draco Malfoy on- on what? A date? No it wasn't that, it was something different. Reintroduction was the only word he could come up with, but that didn't sound right either. By far the most puzzling thought of all, Harry remembered quite suddenly, that Draco had accepted.

***

Harry turned, busying himself with going through inventory and restocking shelves for the rest of the day and well into early evening. If he didn't think about it, he couldn't freak out. He kept reminding himself of this throughout his shift.

"Harry?" A soft knock from the back room made him jump, spilling essence of Murtlap over the floor. He watched as it seeped over his shoes. "  
"You should probably go home. It's not that we don't love your help, but it is late and you look tired." Hannah knelt down, using her summer jacket on his shoes before vanishing the rest of the stain with her wand.

Harry looked at her. "But-"

"No but's. Go to bed."

“Yes Mother”. Harry rolled his eyes, not looking back as he packed his bag to leave.

*** 

_Narcissa squinted at the teenager. He's scrawny and pale, with dark rings under his eyes. His hair is messy, a dark blonde – maybe a light brown. She can't tell in the waning light. But it doesn't really matter. It was said he was the best in the business and Narcissa's word didn't carry much weight these days. He'd have to do. Beggars can't be choosers after all._

_It was hard._

_She felt herself swallowing and wondered, distantly, whether he could hear it. She pawed at the money in her pocket. Anxious to part with it._

_It took his steady hand on her shoulder for her to grasp her Galleons firmly. However anxious she was before, she found that she was more anxious to get results_. 

_“Whatever the cost.” She heard herself muttering dryly in the bathroom. She'd said it before she'd ventured outside and she found herself muttering it at irregular intervals as she went. Through the flurry of traffic, across roads, throughout her trek through the lavender fields. “To keep that dreadful Potter boy out of my son's hair...”_

_It was a gamble._

_Narcissa thought about the gambling her husband had done – how he'd lost. And now she had to pay. Her hair was darkening, back to the jet black she had been born with. Oh how she wished for her pretty, blonde tapered ends back. She was almost swayed by her own imagination._

_“For my son.” She found herself whispering. She must look mad. She fixed the boy with a withering glare and he shrank under her gaze. He certainly wouldn't underestimate her power. The hold she had over him was too strong for him to deflect._

_God how she loathed her incorrigible husband._

_Well. Draco would see how it felt to be ushered away from his home, to be bundled up and shipped off to someone he couldn't stand._

_She loved him. She loved him enough to show him how it felt. The pain would be just enough, just bad enough for him to come back to her._

_Her darling son. Oh how she missed him already._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was short; I'm terribly sorry.


	4. Chapter 3

He woke to a banging on his door. He hadn't slept through the whole week had he? His sleep addled brain was in the middle of conjuring up the idea of Draco Malfoy, outside and sopping wet... hair plastered to his head as if had been slicked back... Harry joking that he looked like he had in first year, too much hair gel and not enough hair... The fantasy fell apart again at the second, more urgent knock. It didn't sound like Draco's light hand, urgent and soft upon the door. It sounded almost like an irate postman. The sharp taps loud and unrelenting.

Groaning, Harry all but toppled out of bed. Throwing himself into an old dressing gown that he was sure wasn't his, he flicked his wand to open the curtains. He thought about getting dressed but decided against it. Muttering to himself as he creaked downstairs. "Let's just pray to Merlin that it isn't a surprise visit from the Daily Prophet."

Before he could deliberate that it was a real possibility that he'd be meeting a reporter in nothing but a dressing gown and boxer shorts, he flung the door open, wincing slightly at the strong light.

"Parcel for Harry Potter." The young man didn't look particularly star struck as he handed the package through.

"You're not an Owl." He said stupidly, looking the boy up and down questioningly. Probably to make sure that the scrawny, brown haired teenager wasn't actually an owl.

At that the man did smile slightly, before schooling his features into something resembling professionalism. "I'm not an owl." He agreed.

"Sorry hang on-" Lifting his finger, Harry gestured for the boy to wait as he disappeared into his living room to root around for some spare change. Presently, he dived for a pair of trousers draped over the back of the sofa. Rooting around the pockets he pulled out a few spare coins, rushing back to the front door. Feet slipping on the hardwood, Harry skidded off the runner almost landing in the poor postman's arms.

"Here." He wasn't quite out of breath but the strange air of the morning led him to be very confused. No sooner had a sickle been planted in his outstretched palm, the boy turned, walking back through the empty street.

Harry wondered why he didn't just apparate, before conceding that he must have been a squib. Instantly, he wrinkled his nose at the thought. He didn't need to dive into why what he'd just thought was wrong.

With that, Harry was left standing alone in the doorway in a old black dressing gown, clutching a lumpy parcel.

***

_“Ms. Malfoy?” The boy is back, he looks sheepish as he plays with a piece of string on his frayed jumper. Draco does that, she thinks._

_Or he did._

_She hasn't seen him in what feels like weeks. He promised he'd owl at the very least..._

_She's taken out of her stupor by the thin voice that tries to come across as braver than it is. Good for him. Maybe he'll find some use for his cowardice – like her son evidently has._

_“I tailgated Mister Potter ma'am.”_

_“Is he up to anything important?” Her eyes trained on a point behind his ear. She couldn't look into his eyes or her wand would end up pointed at his throat._

_"He gave me the galleons.The Gift will take it's hold. It will hold him to the law."_

_Narcissa gave a once over of the boy. Fae were always tricky. Missing son or not, she couldn't get to close to this... thing. She shook the presumption off, taking the bag of galleons from the boy, exchanging it for a slightly smaller pouch of her own. She deliberately made sure that their fingers didn't graze one another._

***

He was expecting the parcel to be an attempt at a gift of some kind from Daisy, or more accurately, Dudley. It had been delivered by a Postman after all. Although the appearance of Wizarding money had thrown him off. So he deliberated - without actually opening the thing - although he did walk around his living room with the package under his arm until it was way too squished. Not as though it was really discernible before but then Harry could attest that it wasn't him.

Harry couldn't get the pointed steel of Draco's eyes out of his head. Or the way his hair swished down his back to rest between his shoulder blades. 

A seed of hope imbedded itself into his chest – filling the cracks Fred Weasley had left. If only for a moment. 

It felt good. To hope. To forget about the pain and suffering and death, and to let himself hope again. 

"Maybe it's Malfoy." He said to himself as if the house was going to answer him. The only answer he got was a flock of crows fleeing the telephone line across the road. For some reason, he wasn't put off by the hope in his voice.

*** 

Harry could see everything from across the road. The neighbours all had the same type of white stonewashed townhouse, partitioned only by walled alleyways. They looked almost penned in. Domesticated. Harry recoiled slightly from the window - the thought of putting people in a cage of their own devising made him a bit sick. It reminded him all too much of Malfoy Manor at the height of the war.

He receded slightly, seeing once more the blackened halls and crumpled bodies; drawn curtains stained with permanent silhouettes of torture. But his own house didn't exactly give him the comfort he wanted either. There were still things that made the house The Black House, even with the rigorous redecoration. He still couldn't go down into the wine cellar...

***   
_The boy watched as Harry sized the box up, pulling things out wheely nearly like an imbecile._

_Serves him right, he thought sourly._

_If Ms. Malfoy's son wasn't such a self-righteous, stuck up ponce..._

_“Weasel” was what came to mind whenever he thought about Draco Malfoy. If it weren't for that git he wouldn't be in this mess. He didn't even think the man knew quite what he'd done... well, he wouldn't have to. Not if he could help it. Keep both parties happy and he would be home free. _

***

Draco gulped as he unshrunk his suitcase in the parlour of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom looked surprised to see him. 

He probably looked equally surprised. Tom's hair was greying, becoming a soft salt and pepper spray where it had originally been as black as winter holly. 

Draco tugged subconsciously at his plait.   
Did he look too much like his father? His mother said he did. 

No, maybe not, he conceded. His mother said a lot of things. Many of which did not sit right with him anymore. Narcissa Malfoy was good at weaving deciet and he would not get caught up in such tomfoolery. He was past that. 

Was he?

He watched the lines of Potter's mouth on repeat. Felt the ripple of tension as his hands moved over his wooden countertop. 

He heard himself speak and Potter answer but it was all a fog now. Too much to unpack and too little time to unpack it. 

Draco liked to unpack things carefully; luggage and thoughts alike. No, he'd spend a few days brewing over this. He had to, for his own sanity and Potter's. 

Not that he cared, of course. 

***

A curtain twitched across the road but Harry ignored it. There were so many nosy old bats in the neighbourhood he could write a book. At least it would sell, he thought grimly. God knows he wasn't doing anything else with his fame these days. 

He felt more washed up celebrity than war hero some days... an image of a badly styled wig and a St Mungo's ward swarmed his mind and for a second he didn't know whether he felt sad or scared that he'd immediately thought about Gilderoy Lockhart. Predictable was probably a better word for it.

He turned back to the parcel, now even more dented from where he'd been clinging onto it, maybe out of sheer desperation to anchor himself to something tangible - lest it slip away. It did nothing of the sort. The parcel happily went into the kitchen with Harry as if it were, in fact, a real object - much to his surprise.

For some reason, Harry placed the thing on his kitchen table with more care than it really warranted. He should have checked it for spell damage sooner, but seeming as it hadn't exploded in his hands yet, he was pretty sure he was as safe as he could hope to be.

He opened the box with some trepidation.

Nothing bit or snarled at him, so he assumed he was safe. The usual fan mail he got made a raucous amount of noise – even now. This present was carefully crafted. Held together by both string and sticking charm. Harry unwound the string first. 

Relaxing. 

Familiar. 

There was a card, and a smaller box. Harry's hair fell over his glasses as he shook his head, he never would understand why people felt the need to put boxes in boxes. It was like a single player version of pass the parcel. Or he could just be lonely.

No, that was stupid. He had Hannah and Neville, and Hermione and Ron and Fleur and Bill and... oh.

His heart felt empty, almost as if someone had come up to him and taken it out. He wasn't quite a zombie but it was all he could do to just go through the motions. Less thinking, more doing.

Resolving not to think, Harry instead focused on the letter. It wasn't sealed in an envelope but the parchment was thick and creamy, a single crease folding the paper neatly down the middle. He smoothed it out, the crease folding letters in half at their middles. He levitated a plate from the cabinet to settle the creasing and moved onto the other things in the package.

"A Wizard Gift." He breathed more slowly as he started to lift objects one by one from their packaging.

He'd heard of them, of course. He'd read his first ever History of Magic book cover to cover before he'd gone to Hogwarts - before everything had become normalised enough to be boring. He remembered it with some fondness; his knees curled up on his small bed, wand in hand, tracing light over the pages as gently as he dared so he didn't disturb the ink... He now looked a little guiltily toward the sunken cupboard by the door. It was sagging and a bit neglected but his school books still stood within.

He'd never had the heart to throw them out and this was as good a reason as any to keep them. Maybe he could give them to Daisy, he thought, as he riffled through the bottom drawer.

"Aha!" Brandishing the book in the air, Harry almost fell backwards from where he was crouched on his haunches. He'd forgotten how heavy school books were, especially the thicker ones. As he wandered back to the kitchen, he left a trail of dust an inch thick.

"Okay... rabbit's foot is..."

A large chunk of the morning, and the afternoon, if he were being honest, was spent like that. Harry Potter, hunched in a corner of his kitchen with a magnifying glass and some tweezers. After he'd encountered the rabbit's foot, he really didn't want to take his chances.


End file.
